


The hunter

by alexurcool26



Series: The Blood is Love Collection [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: (Jabba the Hutt voice): TRA-U-MA, A chronic lack of chill, A+ Parenting, Ableism, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Anakin Skywalker is a stupid twink, Anal Sex, Anti-Capitalism, Bitterness, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Body Horror, Breathplay, Canon-Typical-ish Violence, Carrie Fisher forgive me, Childhood Trauma, Chronic Illness, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Erotic Electrostimulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Gaslighting, Gore, Grooming, Home health aide-ing, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Knifeplay, M/M, Medical Trauma, Misuse of Anakin Skywalker, Misuse of Star Wars as a whole, Misuse of Telepathy, Misuse of Therapy, Misuse of the Force, Problematic content TM, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery, Suicide Attempt, Trans Male Character, Trauma, Wildly unethical behavior in general, misuse of pheromones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexurcool26/pseuds/alexurcool26
Summary: The hand of the Lord Sidious is given an assignment: break Anakin Skywalker
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker/Original Male Character(s)
Series: The Blood is Love Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705621
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	The hunter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassie_p](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_p/gifts).



> Dedication: For Jay, who willingly followed me into the abyss of the prequels. I’d like to apologize for rolling into your life and inconveniencing you but I know you’d yell at me. There are so many fond and grateful feelings I’d like to express towards you, but I can’t put them in words. Maybe one day I’ll regain that ability, Who’s to say? Until then, have a little fic, as a treat.
> 
> You might kill me for what I’ve done, and that would be fair and valid. This was meant as a simple story to arouse-ulate you but at some point it became rather like an incredibly well-intentioned personal attack. I simultaneously regret nothing and everything. I hope you don’t entirely hate this. 
> 
> Thank you for huddling in a rainstorm with me and saving my life. Maybe “Shee-it” can be our always? I love you.
> 
> Notes: Please heed the tags. I am painfully aware that this fic is far from a publishable state, I’ll be working on edits. I’m sorry that you’re reading this in such rough shape but if I didn’t publish it now I was never going to. Kudos and comments would be greatly appreciated.

Where does the hunter start this story?

Reflection is a necessity, despite the ugliness it will reveal. He came into the service of the former senator of Naboo shortly after the Trade Federation’s disastrous invasion of that un-assuming little backwater. The former senator had been preforming one of the banal duties of his public persona, touring the home of a public heath office whose propensity for social climbing radiated off of her. Her home doubled as the headquarters of her small charitable organization on Coruscant dedicated to reducing the stigma of illness of the mind. He thought to himself that the sumptuously appointed living space bore all the hallmarks of having been designed by someone who was trying far to hard to compensate for a childhood lived in hardship, it was all he could do to hold back a disdainful sneer at this pretender’s delusions of having risen to a higher station than she had been born to. Suddenly, he felt an immense wave of hatred crash through the area The charity’s head had an excellent mask in place, but even so he knew the emotion did not resonate from her. He felt that finding the solution to this mystery was more worthy of his time then proceeding with the mundane waste of time that had brought his public persona here. He layered flattery upon flattery until the overly-ambitious pretender was overwhelmed. He dismissed his aides and instructed his security to wait outside as he told her that he had to discuss a matter of extreme sensitivity with her. He had to hold back a derisive laugh as a surface probe of her thoughts revealed that she was practically salivating at the idea of someone of his stature was going to come to her for help, her expectations flitted back and forth between fascination at getting an opportunity to pry into the psyche of someone in his position, and the power, influence, and riches that could come to her from this encounter. The pathetic fool, there was not enough validation in the galaxy to make up for the chip on her shoulder, nothing would ever seem like enough to her, not when she had fought tooth and nail to move beyond her circumstances. Adopting his most patrician smile he intoned softly “My dear, I wonder…is there anyone else here?” To her credit her mask did not budge a centimeter. Her thoughts revealed to him that the her husband, or as she put it “the spineless, useless being she had married in order to secure more resources and stability for herself,” was away but there was another presence here, he felt it very keenly now. “Why, no your excellency, just you and I.” She said with a hungry smile. Finally tiring of the pretender and her petty attempts to deceive him, with a single thought he broke her mind, cursing her to endlessly relive her worst memories. The sound that issued from her suddenly desperate lungs began as a scream, but ended as a sobbing whimper. 

He stood from her richly stuffed coach and moved deeper into her home, bid senate robes billowed as he swept past her crumpled form. Her shattered consciousness had imparted the truth unto him at last. There was a child here…one who had endured much cruelty, clumsy, amateurish torture for being unable to exist as their mother would have wished, and further having the temerity to refuse to try. The child suffered from some physical malady, marring their mother’s idea of a perfect existence, the child would simply become another obstacle she had to overcome on the road to gaining acceptance. What a fool she had been, he cared nothing for saving children but to waste such courage and determination in one so young would be a mistake. He almost cackled at the sheer irony of it, had their mother not intimidated the poor weak willed hospital staff into forgetting to perform a test to measure their count of midi-chlorians the Jedi might have taken this weapon from him and used it against him. As it was he saw flashes of the child’s for sensitivity being beaten below the surface, hidden away like everything else about them that detracted from the perfect image their mother tried to present. He arrived at their dwelling space, it had all the trappings of a privileged youth, material luxuries designed to signal and status to others, to be the cause of envy, but they could not conceal from his eye the fact that any attempt at self-expression had been thoroughly stamped out.

Before the youth’s body was a flismi which depicted in illustration of the being’s mother striking them for daring to speak out. The young being lay in the middle of a a constellation of broken pieces of jagged trans peri-steel the remains of an ornately embossed mirror. “No”, he said softy. As his dark presence oozed into the room. “ You will not die, you have no choice, I will not allow it.” He summoned the dark healing arts of the sith to him. Willing the cuts on the youth’s forearms, thighs, and fingers to stop bleeding. This did not spare them a single iota of suffering, in fact, it engulfed them in pain. He smiled to himself as the young being cried out, their screams becoming a symphony of agony.

From that moment the dark Lord of the Sith worked to re-forge the broken youth into a deadly weapon capable of striking at the Jedi. He had the hunter outfitted with a prototype cybernetic spine, a first step in controlling the symptoms of their cellular disintegration syndrome, in the tradition of the Sith he had allowed no anesthetic to be administered to his hunter in training, better to let the fires of their pain stoke the forge of the rebirth. He bribed, threatened, and occasionally outright took control of the finest instructors from the University of Coruscant. They tutored his pupil in the highest degree in the fields of xeno-biology, medicine, chemistry, mechanical engineering, physics, economics, galactic literature, history, philosophy, and music. He made sure that the hunter received and especially high-caliber of education in the field of psychology, for he knew firsthand that some of the greatest battles are waged inside the mind, and if the hunter could defeat their prey there, they stood no chance in any other arena. The traumatic circumstances of the hunters youth had made them a voracious reader, and they devoured esoteric texts and arcane tomes with abandon, drinking greedily from the fountain of knowledge he had shown them. By the time the hunter reached 19 standard years they were overqualified for a doctorate in the study of the psyche and possessed enough knowledge that they could’ve earned advanced degrees in nearly any field besides as well.

This education paused only for periods of martial training. He clandestinely summoned, from every corner of the galaxy, a bevy of experts in combat, weapon Masters in every discipline. They taught his student all they knew of battle and arms, until one after another they died and his students hand when their course was complete. These lessons were often brutal and left the young body crisscrossed with scars, however when the hunter had defeated the last of them, they were certified expert in four forms of unarmed martial arts, vibro-blades, blaster pistols, and rifles. They had defeated beings with many more times their size, strength, and experience. Through this all, the hunter displayed a certain fascination with knives, coating some in various deadly or agonizing toxins, and compulsively sharpening others to a rending edge. They developed a propensity for throwing them as well is using them in melee combat. Upon completion of this gauntlet of murder, he granted the hunter a crimson bladed lightsaber, they excelled in Ataru and Juyo, reveling in the aggression of those forms.

Finally came the most crucial portion of the training regimen. He personally instructed them in the ways of the Sith. Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The force shall free me. The Sith code was drilled into their consciousness, he showed them what their chains were, the oppression of their childhood. The fanatic desire to be accepted and prove themselves worthy. He showed them how their passion, their anger granted them the strength to wield the power they now possessed in the dark side of the force. 

He built upon the foundation of their education in warfare and

The first lessons were basic learning to harness the force, it began with a simple test, go about their training, but any time they wanted to drink they were to use the force to bring a glass of water from a table, to their hand. They were instructed to keep at the task ceaselessly, for three full days they complied, continuing to excel in their studies. However, three hours past midnight of the final day, exhausted from staying up to finish a study on the effects of malnutrition, they reached for the glass in the mundane way. Their master billowed into the room, threw them down with the force, and shattered their hand beneath his heel. Thus began the second lesson, the dark art of Sith healing.

He taught them to concentrate on their rage, on the indignity of their situation, on their distress, using it to fuel there will, commanding that their body cease its petty acts of rebellion and pain, asserting dominance over their physical form, and simply demanding, that it heal, because they had not given it permission to break.

Using the same harsh methods he taught them to become exceedingly proficient in applications of the force that were simple trifle, push, pull, using it to enhance the reflexes, jump to unparalleled heights. Then came instruction in the darker arts, using the same grip of push and pull to choke and rend living beings, draining vitality from others in order to heal themselves, using the force to enter a berserker like state with their physical feats were unmatched and they felt little pain, conjuring lightning from their fingertips to shock their enemies. Unsurprisingly in retrospect, the art where they most excelled was that of using the force to manipulate the minds of others. A gesture here, a psychic nudge there and many beings became slaves to their will. They surpassed his expectations however when they began to grasp the subtleties of slowly eroding away someone’s will, to latch on to some previous trauma, some unbridled emotion, and use it to form a chink in the armor, seeping in, and twisting a being to servitude, or madness, and death.

There came a time when the hunter felt compelled to inform their master that they had undergone a change in identity and that the hunter was now masculine and wish to be referred to as such. The only reception that met to the hunter seemed a galaxy shaking revelation was a very dry “good for you.” As his master sipped at a glass of Alderanian ale.

For years the hunter used his skill to eliminate annoyances to his master, politicians who stood in his way, criminals who threatened his agenda honing his skills.

The time finally came for the hunter to be given a mission of consequence. He was to break Anakin Skywalker. Darth Maul could have killed the Jedi when he was just a boy, but he allowed overconfidence to overcome his senses. This would not happen to the hunter. The hunter was a creature prone to intense study, a hyper fixation on the object of his focus, confidence simply did not enter into the equation. Maul had been a waste of his master’s training. Count Dooku had failed to kill the young Jedi on Geonosis due to Yoda’s intervention and Assaj Ventress had lost a duel with Skywalker in the jungles of Yavin IV, only managing to leave a single scar across the padawan’s face. These two lesser pawns of his master had been weakened by prior exposure to Jedi teachings, some whisper of which must still prevent them from embracing the full power of the dark side. Not so the hunter, the hunter had been forged by Sith teachings alone, he held only disdain for the Jedi. He knew nothing of peace, serenity or harmony. He was absolutely certain that there was nothing after death, and that knowledge was a means to an end.

What struck the hunter when he saw Anakin Skywalker for the first time was not the aura of power that radiated off him, it was the ill-conceived combination of bravery and certainty in his own self, these two together created stupidity. This was going to be fun, the hunter allowed himself a predatory smile.

Anakin Skywalker had been given a simple assignment, find the person responsible for the recent spate of killings associated with an underground ring of organ harvesters and black market medicine. It was meant to be a blue milk run, a chance to ease himself back into active service in the Jedi order following his injuries on Geonosis. Obi-Wan and the others got to fight to protect the Republic on the front lines of the war with the separatists. Anakin, mired in shame over his loss to Count Dooku, he couldn’t even look down at his own hands without being reminded that one of them was very much not his own, a permanent reminder of his failure. Obi-Wan would’ve framed it as a physical admonition against the level of overconfidence that had led to him to charge Dooku on his own. Obi-Wan would never understand that it wasn’t the overconfidence that it cost him his arm. After being cast down here to reengage Dooku again out of rage, which was deeply concerning. It wasn’t the rage itself that concerned him, it was the insidious emotion, buried far deeper, hidden from all but the deepest bouts of Anakin’s introspection. He had thrown himself at the count feeling rage at Dooku’s betrayal of the order and the Jedi who died for it, but below the surface of that rage…was love. It was love of Obi-Wan that had motivated Anakin to cast himself back into the fray, he’d take the agony of losing his arm a hundred times over if it meant he could spare Obi-Wan pain. As his transport near to the Galactic stock exchange Anakin felt truly alone. There was no one in the order he could talk to about these feelings. The masters already judged him enough as it was, he had been too old to begin training, he was too emotional, too arrogant. Even if he approached one of them under the strictest secrecy of needing their advice on a personal matter he was certain that they would not look kindly on a Padawan developing feelings for his master, especially a pad on such as he. It would not remain a secret, the Jedi Temple for all its vaunted façade of monastic detachment was a bigger hub of gossip and intrigue than many of the seedy cantinas that dotted Coruscant’s underbelly. 

Anakin was struck by the juxtaposition between the eminently sterile surroundings and the sheer gore of the sight in front of him. He had arrived at the galactic medical center in hopes of taking a statement from a traumatized Twi lek who had run screaming from an alley in the undercity and alerted the police toward the horrific medical monstrosities being conducted on those who had been unfortunate enough to be taken in by the pleasant seeming shelter that had opened with the aims of improving the lives of Coruscant’s poorest residents, the forgotten masses doing their best to eke out a living far from the glittering lights and safe streets of the upper city. He had received word that the witness, Lere se’s condition was rapidly worsening. He attempted to ascertain what was happening to her but despite multiple attempts to contact the hospital management he only had been able to reliably contact a harried-seeming reception droid who had adopted to Anakin sounded like a very snippy tone as he informed Anakin for the fourth time that even if he were in possession of data on an individual patient’s status he would be unable to provide it to Anakin without prior written authorization from the hospital administrator.

Anakin had stepped into Lera se’s room in the hospital and was saddened to see how lonely it was. A single indifferent droid tended the battered woman. She regarded him with a surprising degree of lucidity. “It is too late for me Jedi, but you must save the others.” Anakin did his best imitation of the calm and assured demeanor that Obi-Wan always adopted when interacting with distressed civilians. “You’re going to be fine Lera, I will find the others.” She had a certain gleam in her green eyes, a look that spoke of a will to survive. I was a nurse in this very hospital a year ago.” She spoke in labored breaths as machines all around her did their best to keep her from succumbing to some invisible ailment. Anakin knew he should reach out with force and try to determine the cause of her suffering, but when he closed his eyes in preparation to reach out with the force she stopped him with a raspy shout of “Boy! Listen to me, there is nothing you can do for me but I would have you hear my story before I die.” He was torn, he knew that a jedi as proficient as Obi-Wan would be able to do both, comforting Lera by listening to her while simultaneously examining her with the force. For all his strength in the force, for all that they told him that he was the chosen one the healing arts were one area where he seemed to possess a singular lack of talent, even something as simple as getting a general idea of what was allegedly killing this woman would require him to completely focus, ignoring her testimony. He heard the ghost of Obi-wan’s voice telling him to shut Lera out, that the greater good would be served by investigating her situation, not by listening to some deathbed speech like he was a character in a holo-drama. Anakin admired his master, but he couldn’t bring himself to be that…cold.  
He was drawn in by Lera’s desperate magnetism. “I was a nurse in this hospital not even a year ago, I did my job for 30 years and life was good until the hospital accepted a massive charitable contribution to open a satellite location to serve this sector’s poorest. It was supposed to be a way to treat the huddled masses, no questions asked, no need for insurance, or identity documentation, or even payments beyond donations.” Anakin thought he began to see the issue. “I noticed that the staff in the other facility were a little lax with their record-keeping. Every time I made an inquiry I was told that was the nature of working with those kinds of beings. One day my curiosity got the better of me, I took the day off and went to the clinic in under city. It appeared perfectly normal, plenty of people of all shapes, size, and species were coming and going and the ones that would speak to me were very grateful for the treatment they received. I thought that perhaps I was overthinking things again, like I always do. It wasn’t until I was about to leave when a terrified Rodian approached me in the alley outside the clinic, raving that her partner had come in a week ago for a routine examination of her eyes and that she hadn’t been seen since. Just as I approached the poor thing, a security droid from the clinic stepped into the alley and stand her. It claimed that she had been having a psychotic break and that she would be admitted to the clinic to be stabilized. I asked to see a manager or supervisor but I was told that someone would address my concerns later. I began poking around shelters, and other places where people congregate further away from the clinic. There were plenty of people with stories just like that Rhodian, loved ones or friends going into the clinic and never coming out. I planned to get inside and find evidence of whatever was happening. But the evidence came to me. I was trying to find a transport to the upper levels when a screaming Rhodian bumped into me. She was in pain and begging for help, it was then that I noticed that she did not have… any eyes. I did what I could to stabilize her and called for emergency medical support, but emergency medical support doesn’t hurry to the undercity. As she lay dying she told me that they took a few in each group of patients they admitted, she didn’t know the system but some they harvested for organs, tissue vital fluids… Others they sold into slavery. Anakin’s vision blurred with red, he heard Obi-Wan’s voice “there is no emotion, there is peace.” Even in his mind the recitation of one of the tenants of the Jedi code dripped with just the slightest condescending edge. He refocused on Lera’s tale. I made the mistake of going to the hospital administration about this, they didn’t want to hear these “baseless accusations.” I knew there were people suffering and I knew that I needed evidence. I told a few of my friends on staff about what was happening, we gathered and booked passage to the undercity. We did our best to actually sooth the ailing of the people there, we warned them about the clinic, we told them to tell everyone they knew to stay away. In the meantime we sought out others like that Rhodian, survivors. We recorded their stories in exchange for treatment she said with a dry laugh… I know it’s not exactly ethical but I thought that we had to fight fire with fire. I thought it would all be worth it when we could present the scheme to the authorities. We were too confident, too willing to believe that we could stand against the greed. We only lasted a week before the slavers showed up, they grabbed all of the staff and patients. All our hard work was undone in a matter of minutes. I tried to save the data we gathered but they destroyed all our equipment, took us back to their little shop of horrors.” Anakin was enraptured. “They implanted one of their “loss prevention devices” in me. It’s cooking me from the inside out, punishing me for escaping from a master, as far as is concerned I’m a runaway slave. She made a broken sound “it’s funny we left my home world to escape slavery, my mother thought that no being should ever belong to another unless it was of their own free will. All that effort, all my education, everything I’ve done and this is how it ends. No better than the little girl who fled Ryloth. She pressed a data pad into his hand. “It has the location of the clinic, end this, please.” Then she screamed.

Anakin heard a whirring sound, a terrible grinding of flesh issuing from inside her body. The color was suddenly gone from her green skin. He could see massive bruises forming underneath her flesh. Her abdomen began to rip itself open, viscera flying out of the gaping wound. Her limbs contorted at odd angles, snapping from their joints. Anakin was transfixed by the horror of the scene that was unfolding in front of him, he couldn’t look away, later he would wish to the force itself and all the stars in the galaxy that he had been able to. The damage that was overtaking her body seemed to be without end. The screams intensified, and still no help came. Her face seemed to implode. Suddenly her eyes exploded out of their sockets of viscous goo dribbled from what had been kind matronly face is the remnants of those wise eyes dribbled into her mouth she at last fell silent. The droid that had been monitoring her had attempted to page a medical team, but seemed to react to his patient’s explosive demise with towering apathy. “Perhaps if she had ingested less sodium and imbibed more H2O, her prognosis would’ve been better.” It said in a detached monotone.

Anakin’s whole world swam before him, nothing in his 10 years of Jedi training, nothing in the years before that as a slave on Tatooine had prepared him for what he had just seen. One thought overtook his mind, at least his mother hadn’t died like that. With that he vomited spewing bile all over the pristine the sanitized floor. The droid let out an annoyed sigh. Anakin sprinted from the room.

His thoughts came in a panicked frenzy. His vision blurred he wasn’t sure if he was in hospital in Galactic city or fleeing a beating from Watto in Mos Eisley. His pulse skyrocketed, he was unable to call on the simplest technique of his Jedi training to calm it, totally unable to center himself, for he had no center. He was falling wildly through the abyss of space. The only thing he could do was keep running.

It was that single-minded instinct, the only one left him in this state that led to him colliding with an alien in the entrance hall. His reflexes allowed him to maintain his balance, the other being was not so lucky and crashed to the floor with a thud. A tiny, almost imperceptible squeak of pain was followed after a moment by a much put upon voice ringing out “oh joy, I’ve always wanted to be more crippled.” The impact combined with the confusion of the statement briefly brought Anakin out of his panic. He saw sprawled before him a humanoid being with light pink skin and hair that was a peculiar hue of blue. He attempted to take in information about his surroundings, he finally noticed a cane that lay abandoned about a meter from the beings hand. “Stars! I’m so sorry,” Anakin said in a panic as he reached for the cane. He proffered his other hand like a peace offering as he struggled to gain control of his breathing. The being reached out and took his hand, Anakin felt like a million volts of electricity have been poured into his system.

Anakin pulls the being to his feet, he could see that he was male now. Then Anakin lost the ability to see altogether as panic overtook him again. A voice spoke to him, reached him from within the swirling darkness. It was rich and strong, a light tease in its tone. Normally, I’d swear at you in a dozen languages for knocking me on my ass like that, but since you seem to be in the middle of a panic attack why don’t you just focus on my voice and your breathing for me, huh? A sense of calm slowly overtook Anakin, he realized with a start that he very much should be panicking because that calm was not coming from within him, it was being imposed by an outside force, all his training screamed at him to resist this manipulation, but it allowed him to take a step back from the edge of his frenzy and it was...intoxicating. “Count with me,” The voice commanded. Anakin wanted nothing more than to obey. “10, 9, 8 ,7 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1,” two voices moved over the syllables of each word, Anakin’s was erratic but calling, the other voice remained warm and steady throughout. When he reached one Anakin opened his eyes and found he was looking into eyes the color of a fancy imported chocolate he had lusted after on Tatooine, he would surely have risked a beating from his master if but only for the briefest taste of those chocolates. It was probably better that someone had bought them before he had the chance.

“So…,” The voice sends a shiver up Anakin’s spine. “A jedi, the famous heroes of the Republic and one of them is running through hospitals knocking poor infirm students to the ground?” The accusation was laced with honey but Anakin still felt its sting. He finally processed that the face in front of him was that of a Zeltron. He scrambled to recall what he could of them from his studies at the temple, he wished he paid more attention to research projects that have been assigned to him in the archives. The realization came to him in a rush. “You manipulated me! Your species has telepathy you use to project emotions, and you manipulated me!” It came out sounding rather more petulant than he had intended and Anakin suddenly felt he had not lived one day more than his 19 years.

The face in front of him sported a wicked grin. “We also give off pheromones designed to increase our likability and make other beings find us attractive, but I’m sure a good little Jedi like you didn’t even notice that, not that I used them on you anyway.” Anakin blinked in surprise. “I’m a student in training to become a minder, most of my people don’t know much about emotions and psychology beyond the amateur level that biology gives us. Lucky for you, you happened to knock a professional on his ass…or professional-in-training anyway.” He added with a slight frown. It took Anakin a moment to reconcile the words he heard with the sight in front of him.

Some part of his mind registered that pheromones would not of been necessary to make the Zeltron striking. He wore a synth-leather jacket, studded with intimidating pieces of metal, over a crop top that barely covered the top of his chest. He wore synth-leather leggings, distressed to show off as much of his leg as possible, and combat boots, and fingerless synth-leather gloves. This all accentuated a curvy frame, hair in a bun that looked like it was meant to intimidate away predators. His nose sported a septum piercing, one brow was interrupted by a curved barbell, and the other darted with three rings. It took all of Anakin’s Jedi training not to let his jaw drop when he started reading the tattoos. Across his midriff a slur used to refer to beings that prefer the company of others of the same sex was written, in large unmistakable arubesh characters. “Fuck” and “love” were written out across four fingers of each hand. His throat was taken up with depictions of various flora, several species of fungi that had reputations for being particularly resistant to adverse conditions, interspersed with symbols for sickness, another pejorative or people of a certain sexual orientation, and symbols of danger, and death. 

Anakin felt a surge of indignation.” How do you know him I am a Jedi?” He said in his most assertive tone. The last thing he was expecting was the peal of laughter that left the Zeltron’s throat. As if anyone else would choose to style their hair in a rat’s tail. On all the missions he’d been Anakin had never encountered someone who was so free in their derisive opinion of the Jedi, much less someone willing to say these things to his face once they knew his status. Defensiveness rose within him “this style is a time-honored tradition in the order!” The Zeltron didn’t him finish. “Those robes too, granted yours are a bit darker than others I’ve seen but you still look like an emotionally unstable lonely monk… Which judging from what I felt maybe actually isn’t too far from the truth? There’s also the very obvious lightsaber on your belt unless it’s secretly some sort of sex toy?” Anakin’s brain had short-circuited attempting to process his first remark, he couldn’t even begin to address the second. Luckily, the alien saved him from having to respond by starting to speak again. “Look it’s clear that you just experience something traumatic, I might as well be a licensed professional minder, why don’t you take this data pad with my information and stop by my office? I’ll see if I can’t calm that racing mind of yours.” Anakin looked askance. “You’re a minder? You’re not…dressed like one…” For an inexplicable reason some small part of Anakin was worried about offending the being in front of him. This tiny anxiety drifted away when he was greeted with another infectious smile. “You caught me outside of my professional capacity, I’m not here for anyone but me. I’m here because I’m a chronically ill pathetic fuck.” His mother, Obi wan, and Padmé would’ve all winced at hearing such language, despite this there was no change in the alien’s sunny expression. Anakin tried not to let how taken aback he was showing his face, he failed. “We can talk about it while you walk me to the transport pad, you traumatized fuck.” Anakin’s brow furrowed in confusion, “who said I was walking you to the transport pad and who’s to say that I’m traumatized?” The alien turned on his heel and began to move away with a slightly staggered gait, came tapping in front of him. And he can hurt slightly to catch up. “Me, I did, just now.” Anakin struggled to come up with a topic of conversation. “Can I ask about the cane?” Stupid! That was so stupid of him, it was as though he hadn’t sat through pointers in etiquette from his mother, his master, and Padmé. Anakin grew up a slave he knew what saying the wrong word would bring and the stakes only risen as he became a Jedi.

A world-weary sigh sounded from his impromptu walking companion. “Well you did anyway.” The Zeltron takes a deep breath and adopts the tone of an overly enthusiastic sales pitch droid. “I suffer from molecular disequilibrium, it’s a rather dull name I think to describe what happens to me. Every cell in my body is ripped apart and stitched back together over and over, every day. It’s supposed to be incredibly rare, a handful in every trillion beings. But guess who just happens to be the results of an unfortunate union between a zeltron mother and a lorrdian father?”  
Lorrdians by the way, are a near-human species that developed their own non-verbal language of stuble gestures to communicate with each other during a period of enslavement in their past. It makes us all natural experts at reading humanoid body language. There was never any other option but for me to go into this field. That sunny smile flashes on the alien’s face again before he continues in the same overly chipper tone. “That’s right, yours truly. Of course there are always complications when humans decide to reproduce with near-humans having relatively similar but not quite compatible DNA can get a little…complicated, messy, you understand.” Anakin wasn’t sure he did, he was struggling to keep up. Most of the…offspring don’t make it to full term. But I’ll give you a candy if you can guess who was unfortunate enough to survive the “joyous miracle” of childbirth. No guesses? Fine, more candy for me. And my prize for survival? Molecular disequilibrium. It takes a full suite of cybernetic implants and several fun cocktails of drugs to ask my body pretty please not to rip itself apart too much please? I’m doing great. Heyhowareyou?”

They walked in silence for 10 steps before Anakin whispered softly, “Oh.” Chocolate eyes looked over at him. “Well, now that you know my sad story we might as well be on a first name basis. I’m Jace.” 

“Anakin.” He said, while offering his hand. He hoped he didn’t seem too eager to touch Jace, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t want to experience the electric rush again that had come from the brief meeting of skin that had already passed between them. As they reached the transport shuttle Jace turned, giving Anakin’s outstretched hand and unimpressed look. Anakin didn’t notice the Weequay pickpocket come up behind Jace, distracted as he was by his blunder. A vibro-knife in the creature’s right hand darted towards the strap of the messenger bag that hung from Jace’s shoulder. Almost quicker than Anakin could process Jace’s cane was no longer supporting his weight, instead the heavy wood crashed into the kneecap of the would-be thief. The thief dropped to one knee, Jace whirled the cane around and brought the top of it crashing down on the Weequay’s head, driving him into unconsciousness. Anakin stepped back stunned, Jace briefly surveyed the downed alien, shrugged, adjusted his grip on his messenger bag and boarded the approaching transport to the lower levels. “How did you-?” Jace raised his voice to be heard over the engines of the transport “Do that? I didn’t think I’d have to not when I had a big strong Jedi to protect me standing less than a meter for me. But to answer your question, not all of us live in a luxurious temple on the surface sir. Don’t worry, you can make it up to me that you underestimated me, pried into my painful history, and knocked me down and triggered a severe pain flare by coming to see me, three for the price of one, look at me, embracing my inner capitalist.” He rattled off a set of coordinates. Anakin shook his head in disbelief as the Coruscant security force approached and the transport blasted away.

Anakin didn’t see Jace for a week after that. Every night’s sleep at the temple had been disturbed. Filled with ghosts and dreams, Lara Se dying, his prosthetic hand melting, him being fitted with a slave collar. Not all the dreams induced fear though. Increasingly as he attempted to center himself and drifted unconsciousness he found his dreams visited by the specter of Jace, the teasing lilt in his voice, the rich pink hue of his skin, his opposition and defiance of everything conventional. That last part angered Anakin but also excited him. Occasionally the dreams were…not the kind of dreams a Jedi should be having. He’d made several, if he was honest with himself, desperate attempts to holo-call Padmé and process the situation with her. She was busy with a humanitarian project in the  
Gaulus sector, trying to bring food to the starving people of Ryloth. Thoughts of that world brought thoughts of Lara se and her final moments.

He considered approaching Chancellor Palpatine with his troubles. But the idea of approaching the grandfatherly old politician with problems this personal and…intimate felts deeply wrong. He didn’t even bother with Obi-Wan his master was liable to fall to apoplexy if Anakin shared even a fraction of his disordered thoughts about the enigmatic alien he had encountered. Thus seven days after their initial meeting Anakin found himself outside of a nondescript but well appointed building bearing a sign for the universal growth collective in elegant Arubesh lettering.

A bored-looking sullastan eyed him as he entered the building. Before he could speak her mouth-flaps opened and in a drawl she said “if ya lookin’ for the brothel sweetie it’s just down the street next to the building offering tax services and nude psychic readings, apparently finding employment is difficult for recent university graduates.” She added as an aside.

Anakin felt himself flush at the mention of naked psychic consultation. “No, actually I’m here to see Jace.” Anakin said under his breath in a rush. The sullastan’s sensitive hearing made this irrelevant. “Gee, the way you’re talking it almost sounds like you think he works at the brothel.” She sighed and began to type at a dizzying pace on her console. A moment later a familiar voice caused a pleasant ripple to move up Anakin’s spine.

“Mr. Quell! I’m delighted you made it! Jace’s voice laced with honey issued from a speaker on the wall. Head straight on back, my office is the first on the left, or is the right? I don’t know, I’m sure we’ll find it.” Anakin suppressed the urge to grin as he hurried around the corner. 

One door was open as if in anticipation of his arrival, unplanned though it had been. He entered the room and saw Jace was seated imperiously in an armchair. Anakin had to take a moment to reconcile the figure in front of him with the brash, combative alien he’d met a week ago. Jace sat in a dark blue pinstripe suit, he looked like something out of a raunchy naughty boss and employee holo- vid that Anakin had seen an ad for once while using a public terminal on a mission. The masculinity of the outfit was blended with complementary shades of lipstick eyeshadow and blush adorning the pink skin. “You’re wondering about the new look? It may not look like it but I see people from all walks of life in this office, and not all of my clients are as comfortable as you receiving therapy from someone who looks so blatantly like a pissed off queer.” “I can’t imagine why.” Anakin said dryly. “I guess they have more sense than you.” Anakin tore his eyes away and noticed the empty hover chair next to Jace’s seat. There were several more sumptuous looking seats arrayed around an outrageously overstuffed couch. Tucked in a corner was a sensible wooden desk with a console on top. As well as a shelf of holo- books that Anakin presumed had to do with the field of being a minder, abstract sculptures from a variety of worlds sat on several small tables and the walls were covered with abstract artwork and nondescript scenes of various biomes across the galaxy. An acoustic melody issued from speakers recessed into the walls.

Anakin was suddenly struck by the realization that he had no idea of the etiquette of this situation. He was frozen and on the verge of panic. Jace’s voice cut through the storm before it had a chance to fully form. “Sit wherever you like, or stand if you prefer.” Anakin shuffled over to the couch and squeezed himself onto the corner of it, his upbringing on Tattooine making it instinctual for him to make himself a small as possible and to cause as little disruption as he could. Jace’s eyebrow raised critically “you won’t break it or ruin it, make yourself comfortable please.” Hesitantly Anakin allowed himself to relax his posture and spread a little bit further. Desperate to fill the silence Anakin blurted the first question that came to his mind. “Mr. Quell?” “Your cover identity, your name is Lars Quell and your suffering from adjustment disorder with depressive features related to having to leave your home on some mid rim colony because of the war.” “Isn’t that unethical? To lie to someone like that, I mean.” “ This whole situation is unethical, everything is unethical really. But I take it that your Jedi Masters would not like you receiving the help you so clearly need from anyone other than themselves. And it’s not as though I can tell my supervisor that I’m treating a Jedi. The question of billing would be ludicrously complicated however just because I like you I’ve decided to do you pro bono.” he said with a wink. “Now I’d like to explain how this is going to work. You and I are going to work together hopefully towards processing whatever trauma you’ve got rattling around in that pretty head of yours, reframing whatever stories you tell me to focus on strengths. This relationship is predicated on honesty so I asked that we be honest with each other, and I promise you that anything you say in this room is confidential unless I think you’re a danger to yourself or others. I take this very seriously and not even the Jedi will get me to break that promise to you.” Jace made intense eye contact with Anakin as he finished speaking. “Now I’d like to ask, what are your expectations of me?” Anakin sat in contemplative silence for a moment. “I don’t want you to use your telepathy or…pheromones to manipulate me.” “Deal, ordinarily I wouldn’t have used it on you at the hospital but you were in such distress I could feel it from all the way down the corridor, I worried that if I didn’t call you you might lash out with the force of something.” His words hurt but only because Anakin had the same fear. Anything else?” I want you to…help fix whatever is wrong inside of me, whatever stopping me from being the Jedi that I know I should be.” “I’ll do my best Anakin.” Jace answered calmly.

As he spoke a dumbbot, a droid with extremely limited programming powered up in the corner and rolled towards Anakin on quiet treads. In its grippers set a tray that held a single bar of chocolate, a remote control, and a container labeled kinetic sand. “These are just some things I picked out for you, let me know if there to your tastes I’m curious to see whether I’ve still got it.” Anakin’s eyes were fixed on the chocolate, it was the same brand and flavoring that had captured his interest all those years ago on tattooing before he could stop himself his hand shot out and in the next moment he ripped open the wrapper and shoved the chocolate into his mouth, Jedi training be damned. Anakin took a moment to recover himself before he hastily attempted to apologize. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” “I do,” Jace’s face held a smug grin “you saw something you wanted, something you desire deeply, and he reached out and took it. That’s very good, that’s the first step.” The first step?” Anakin echoed. I like people that come into this office to be comfortable, so we’re going to sit here in distinctly uncomfortable silence until you take the remote on that tray and customize the rooms settings to your liking, also give the kinetic sand to try. I’m very rarely wrong.” Anakin hesitantly reached out and took hold of the control, he pressed a button and the acoustic melody halted, he pressed a few more and a soft roar simulating space travel emanated from the speakers. “Ah, a fly boy at heart. Fascinating.” Anakin felt himself flush slightly and concentrated on the remote. A few more presses and the temperature of the room had ratcheted up about 10°. “Your most at home in dry heat? Probably from a desert planet then.” Anakin couldn’t think of anything to say in response to that but he moved on and opened the container kinetic sand. He plunged his flesh hand and do it and was immediately irritated by the texture…it felt like home, as harsh as home had been. His reaction to the sensory memory pushed Anakin into speaking before he realized what he was doing “I don’t like sand, it’s coarse, rough irritating, and it gets everywhere…” “Shitty childhood on a desert planet then.” Anakin nodded mutely. “Slavery?” Anakin looked up in shock. “Don’t be so surprised, it’s drilled into your very bearing, you were minimizing the space he took up the moment you entered this room, I had to ask you to adjust the settings of the room to your liking, and I bet you were worried about what I think about your choices and whether you were inconveniencing me.” Anakin could only nod. “You came into this room, and you expressed a need, I’m proud of you.” Anakin was desperate for another line of conversation, he gestured to the unoccupied hover chair. “I have good pain days and bad pain days, sometimes I can dislocate all my joints doing something as simple as walking across the room. On days like that it’s better for everyone I use the hover chair, plus able-bodied pricks like you tend to get out of my way.” Anakin laughed despite himself before using the forefinger of his flesh hand to tap at the metal of his prosthetic. “Oh, you have some spine, that’s an acquired injury, completely different, doesn’t count.” Jace said in the tone of an officiator. Anakin laughed so hard he started to wheeze. When he recovered, he said the first thing that came to his mind since Jace seemed to be encouraging that sort of behavior. “I’ve never seen a cane like yours before.” “My last job was in a retirement facility, catering to beings near the end of their lifecycle that have dementia. The worst patient was a wookie who had fought against trandoshan slavers on Kasshyk. He was never sure whether he was in the facility on course on or Coruscant or fleeing through the jungles of Kashssyk. He was an absolute terror to work with, threw furniture, ripped the arms off of poor aid droids, when scrambling for a weapon every time he heard a loud noise, terrified of confined spaces, and shocks. I was the only one brave enough to keep seeing him day after day.” Jace leaned a little bit closer conspiratorially “between you and me cheated, just a dash of the telepathy to make sure that he wouldn’t take my head off. He had such stories to tell, he’d been a freighter captain, a freedom fighter, a local politician, guide to the dangerous parts of the Kasshyk. Day after day I came in and listen to the stories, and got harder and harder for him to get up, the protocol droid found it increasingly difficult to translate as he lost control of his facial muscles. In the end the old pastor told me that I was the only one who cared about him and he had fashioned his old walking stick into a cane for me. He said that it would help me stand as tall and strong as the Wroshyr trees of his home world. That was quite the compliment I found out as apparently their entire civilization is built around those trees. It may have even been sacrilege for him to give something made of them to an outsider, but who’s to say?” Anakin was spellbound by the story “you must’ve made quite an impression on him.” “What can I say? I have a bit of an affinity for beings that know what it’s like to be owned.” Anakin felt forbidden heat stirring inside himself as he made his exit.

Jace had made the mistake of mentioning to Anakin that the home health aide droid that was supposed to monitor his tachycardia had been stolen. Anakin showed up to his appointment the next week with a custom-built droid. A single floating sphere that flashed a couple diagnostic instruments at Jace as he walked through the door and immediately began shouting in alarmed bursts “time to take a break!” “Break time!” “Now is the time for break!” Much to Anakin’s amusement, Jace laughed so hard tears began to stream down his face the droid saw this and immediately reacted by making a soothing series of noises repeatedly, interspersed with comforting phrases. “You are good, you are kind, you are valued, you are cherished, You are successful!” Jace attempted to bat the droid away it responded indignantly, “You are being consoled, do not attempt to resist!” After threatening to power off the droid which sent it into a sulky silence Jace finally said “it’s not super ethical of me to accept gifts.” “It’s not super ethical of you to see me either, so I win.” Jace looked perturbed briefly “know that I’d like to argue with that, but I can’t.” Anakin was delighted. Anakin’s arm had been troubling him, not his arm, the prosthetic. It was difficult for him even after having had it for a few months to think of it as his. He was experiencing phantom pains every few hours. Jace noticed during one of their sessions and calmly instructed him to disconnect his arm from the prosthetic. “I can’t! That would be rude to show you the stump.” “What’s rude is attempting to conduct a therapeutic session while you’re in pain.” Not having an answer that Anakin did as he was told and nearly sobbed with relief. Anakin still felt the need to hide his injury behind his other hand. Jace made a dismissive noise “don’t feel like you have to hide that from me, I’ve seen worse and I have worse, besides on some corners of the dark color net you’d make quite a killing with that and the rest of your twink-ish body.” Anakin laughed and indignantly said “I am not a twink!” “A. Are too. B. You’ve been doing research? You know what a twink is? Naughty jedi.”

Anakin and Jace got into a heated debate about the war the following session. “How like a Jedi not to see the bigger picture, you’re focused on the loss of life and the trauma around that, but there are ripple effects cascading through the entire galaxy. We are creating living beings to use in a war, and our society will have to shift to accommodate these clones. Already there are reports that clones on leave here on Coruscant are being discriminated against It’s been documented there’s a massive uptick in phobias of droids across all Republic worlds, especially among children, and my colleagues on separatist planets are reporting a similar fear of clones and their population..” Anakin had felt righteous fury “You’re speaking to separatist traitors?” “If I were a conventional doctor, would you have this problem?” Anakin was sullen as he admitted “No.”

The day he told Jace about Padmé he thought that he was going to die. Jace’s only response had been a guffaws laughter and after asthmatic gasps that sent the home health aide droid into a frenzy, “secretly married…to a senator?! BITCH! The drama! How extra! What a power move! Iconic to be honest.” You are naughty after all.” Anakin was so flustered all he could do his grin.

It was in all bright and cheery though. Anakin showed up at the office door trembling after having received a tip about the network of slavers and organ harvesters. He had gone into an abandoned warehouse that was supposedly the heart of the operation. Inside he found the massive girth of the hutt trust up and suspended from the ceiling, or rather what had once been a hutt. He had been submerged in a massive quantity of sodium chloride. The chemical that triggered an imbalance in his cell membranes and his body had depleted itself trying to secrete a layer of mucus to insulate him. It was an agonizing sadistic death, it would’ve taken hours. Jace held him while he cried, exactly like Padmé had after the sand people.

Anakin soon discovered that he simply had too much energy to focus his attention on one thing during their sessions, perhaps that was why Obi-Wan and Padmé were constantly urging him to slow down. As long as he could hold up a conversation Jace had no problem with Anakin using the force to send various objects of interest whirling about their heads. The home health aide droid was not amused due to a slight glitch in its vocabulator that Anakin found too endearing to fix he would flit after the objects and attempt to hold them in place with his propulsor’s proclaiming: “DAN-GER! DAN-GER!”

*

Anakin spoke often about his love of Padmé and his longing to be with her, clumsily tied with cautionary tales relayed from Obi-Wan about how desire was a path to the dark side. On one occasion Jace seemed to be holding back great amusement. “Anakin, don’t you think your life would be much easier if you learned how to jerk off?” Anakin was horrified. “Jedi don’t do that!” “ Plenty of individuals across a plurality of species engage in the act of self pleasure, gender and sexual preferences are almost immaterial that the galactic scale. The urges you’re feeling are perfectly natural-“ “Jedi don’t have such a urges, we’re better than that.” “Are you?” “Obi-Wan would never –“ “Don’t you think your hero worship of Obi-Wan is little excessive?” Jace asked. Anakin tried not to let the initial surge of anger within him build. “He’s the closest thing I have to a father.” Anakin retorted. “Yes, and it’s clear that the absence of a father figure during your formative years has left you with the need for Obi-Wan’s approval, I daresay that it extends beyond what the Jedi would consider…appropriate.” Anakin was frozen in fear “I don’t feel that way about other men…” Jace’s voice grew softer. “Anakin, we promised would be honest with each other in this room, nothing you have to say to me is ever shameful or disgusting.” Anakin began to hyperventilate but everything in the room worked against this instinct, the soothing, of simulated space, the warm temperature. “I…want him to take care of me in more ways than a master…should. I love him in ways he could never…love me.” Again, Jace held Anakin as he broke.

*

The break in Anakin’s case came when he received word that the Queen pin of the organ harvesting and slave trading operation was based out of the club known as Safeword on the lower levels. Her underlings knew her only as Prycilla and that she was a human woman. Anakin heard from his contacts that getting entry into the club without an invitation was nearly impossible, apparently many people wanted to see the inside for themselves, it had a reputation as a den of carnal and chemical debauchery and opulence without equal, it catered to nearly any act of perversion ranging from the fairly routine to the incredibly outlandish. Jace’s eyes lit up when Anakin mentioned it. “I can get you inside.” Anakin’s face twisted in surprise “you know it?” “I’m a zeltron, partying, drinking, sex, that’s kind of our niche as a species.” “That’s not allowed, it would be against the order’s rules.” “So is everything about us, I am a private citizen materially assisting the Jedi order with an investigation of extreme importance. You’ve just received word from an anonymous source, that’s me in case you’re not following, that Prycilla is going to target me for organ harvesting while I’m at SafeWord and if you want to protect me and catch your criminal, I guess you’ll just have to come along. Where something a bit less conspicuous than your usual attire though flyboy.” Anakin grinned.

Anakin wore a tight synth-leather outfit and a necklace that had belonged to Padmé designed to accentuate his throat. Padmé had even insisted on adding a bit of eyeliner, eyeshadow, and blush.  
Jace’s first comment had been that he looked like the ultimate club twink, Anakin had only been able to laugh. They breezed through the door, Jace looked almost exactly as he had the day Anakin had bumped into him at the hospital. “I really think this could be a liberating experience for you.” Jace said as they stepped onto the dance floor a rap song shaking every object in body in the building. “We could find any number of interesting species who would love to spend the night with you. There’s a pa'lowick right there, Ani you haven’t lived until you’ve been sucked on by a pa'lowick. I saw a few cathar by the door if you have more feline inclinations, or there are a couple Fallen over by the bar if you’re interested in reptilians. I forget the name of that other species but there are couple beings over there or made up almost entirely of tentacles, I hear that’s quite the experience. We could even find some appropriately programmed droids if you prefer some mechanical company.” Anakin was only half listening, throughout the night he’d been plied with ales and brandies, mixed drinks from across the galaxy, in order to maintain his cover as a sloppy club twink. He knew there were techniques in the force designed to keep him sober but after each drink it became harder and harder to summon the energy. After he nearly fell twice on the dance floor Jace dragged him to the suites, which were separated from the main club by an elevator. Jace had heard that Prycilla’s group tended to pray unattractive beings who rented one of the suites, now it was just a matter of waiting. Come on what do you fancy I know you red blooded humans always have a kink for one kind of “exotic” species or other, come on at least tell me it’s not something as vanilla as Twi’Leks, those are for baby xeno-fuckers Just as they entered the room Anakin braced against Jace and whisper what if my taste ran more in the direction of zeltron hybrids?” “Well, wouldn’t that be interesting? Perhaps we could work something out but I’ll have to see whether my tastes include humans who are too cocky for their own good.”

Jace sat on the bed and let out a squeak of pain. Suddenly all the alcohol and alien equivalents left Anakin system all at once. “What’s wrong?” “Just the spinal cybernetics acting up, it’s nothing.”  
“ I can fix that.” Anakin gently slid the crop top offered Jace’s body and ran his hands along the protesting muscles where they interfaced with cybernetic technology. Jace let out a sigh and Anakin gently turned him around so they were face-to-face. For the first time Anakin saw the scars on Jace’s chest. They formed keloids around the side of the top surgery. Anakin drew in a breath nearly the same time Jace did but before a harsh dismissal could leave Jace’s mouth Anakin mumbled that the scars were beautiful. He traced his fingers along the numb keloid scars. Scars that ran from the middle of Jace’s chest all the way out to his outer torso. In a hushed reverent tone Anakin said that these were reminders of Jace’s strength and everything that he went through and nothing for him to be ashamed of. “I want to be with you.” he mumbled quietly. “No you don’t, you want someone who can keep up with you, not a broken, sick, crippled, faggot like me.” “You’re incredible, you’re so strong and I’d be the one trying to keep up with you. I love you.” Jace nearly broke down in tears on the spot, that would make what had to come next so much more complicated of course the poor brave, stupid, stupid twink had no idea of that. 

“I would very much like to kiss you, but I know I shouldn’t, it’s not the Jedi way.” On a sigh Jace breathed, “Ani, have you ever wondered how much greater you could be without the Jedi holding you back?” Just then Anakin’s com link beeped and the team of special ops clones that have been sent to breach the club and provide reinforcements through the service tunnels radio that they’d found the organ harvesting base in the basement of the club. Anakin nearly pressed a kiss to Jace’s lips but instead he promised he’d return as soon as this was over, he promised to keep Jace safe.

As the idiot dashed out of the room Jace moved slowly to a hidden panel along the wall and pressed the button. The fireplace in their suite dropped away and revealed an express elevator to the basement.

Anakin found his squad of clones surrounding a male figure who was facing away from them, the details of their person hidden from the industrial lights. Suddenly deranged cackling laughter echoed from the figure as he turned. It was Jace. Anakin could only blink and confusion “What-“ “You know all this cloning research could actually have been used to develop treatments and therapies for chronically ill and disabled folk like me, but what does the oh so benevolent republic do with it instead? Breed an endless supply of cannon fodder. Oh you mean you haven’t figured it out yet, it’s me, I am Prycilla.” Finally, the time his master had come promised had come, it was time for him to revel in his gifts, his passions, strengths, victories, and the breaking of the chains that had held him for so long. He would have to thank his master for allowing him to develop an identity all the tattoos, piercings, makeup, clothes all things that reminded him who he was and why he was going to win this fight, things that never would’ve been allowed had the Jedi found him. The clones readied their weapons to fire when a horrid sound issued from Jace’s throat a scream that contained a lifetime of rage and anger the clones cried out as well, Anakin’s vision blurred and his ears bled he was forced into a crouch. He saw the clones collapsed one by one blood leaking from within their helmets. “I’ve waited a long time for this Ani,” Jace said. As Anakin rose he heard the igniting hum of the blade other than his own. in front of him Jace now wielded a crimson bladed lightsaber in his right hand and brandished the wroshyr cane in his left. Anakin called on the force to aid in his leap and flung himself a Jace, seething in the pain of betrayal. Jace’s only response was delighted cackling, “You have no chance Ani, I can read your mind and your body, you’ve belonged to me from the moment you walked into the hospital. Anakin thought he could and the dual swiftly by using his saber to cleave the wroshyr would in two. Jace let him try, is blade connected with the wood, and the wood did not yield. Anakin had heard stories of the incredible strength and resiliency of the wroshyr tree but this was far beyond the natural. Anakin reached out with the force and felt that Jace had imbued the cane with the force enabling it to stand against a lightsaber and come away intact. Anakin lashed out again and again attacking a counterattacking in the way of Djem So. Jace used the cane as something akin to a second lightsaber. However, this was nothing like when Anakin had made a fumbling attempt to engage count Dooku with two lightsabers in an attempt to catch him off balance and Ventress’s skills were only a pale imitation of Jace’s at best. He was facing a true master of Jar'Kai. Jace’s weapons moved in perfect harmony flawlessly executing maneuvers from a personalized blend of Ataru and Juyo, Jace used his unique physiology to pop fingers, wrists, and elbows, knees, and hips out of their sockets to perform maneuvers Anakin could barely process let alone counter before seamlessly moving them back in the place before Anakin could capitalize on their shift. Anakin thought he briefly gained the upper hand when he was able to slam his metal hand into Jace’s shoulder and dislocate it. with blinding speed Jace lashed out with the other arm and hurled a knife he had concealed up his sleeve directly into the junction between Anakin’s flesh and his prosthetic arm. Immediately, Anakin knew the blade had been coded in some form of toxin as his arm began to fail him. Jace jumped landed behind Anakin grab his wounded hand and used it to wind his wounded arm around Anakin’s throat pulling with his good side. “Fringe benefits of molecular disequilibrium.” His echoing laughter was the last thing Anakin heard as his world went dark.

Anakin woke bound to the surgical table in the basement of SafeWord. Jace stood over him. Without saying a word he pressed his lips to Anakin’s throat and then bit down in a vicious parody of the chaste kiss Anakin had often dreamed of giving him, as though he were trying to rip Anakin’s throat out with his teeth. Blood gushed from the wound and Jake contentedly moaned as he lapped it up. Anakin’s Jedi training kicked in and he remained stoic. Jace reached behind him and produced a wicked -looking carving knife and began to lay into Anakin’s skin. As the elegant lines of each of Arubesh character were completed Jace traced them with his tongue lapping up blood greedily as he went. Anakin felt like giving in when he realized what was being etched into his flesh, Jace was marking him as deviant forever. “you’re just an arrogant brat who needs a daddy to discipline him.” Jace whispered “I’m going to do what Obi-Wan never could.” He then began using the same carving knife to shore away at Anakin’s hair, moving and skillful lines until Anakin’s head had been shaved nearly to the scalp. “My boy looks much better without that rat tail,” Jace breathed. Anakin then felt the force being used to constrict his windpipe his eyes burst open and swam with tears he looked up and hazily saw Jace gazing down at him with an almost gentle smile on his face. “Are you going to be a good boy for me?” Anakin snarled in defiance. Jace sighed and the grip around Anakin’s throat intensified. Every cell in his body was screaming at him simply given and finally the chosen one could resist no more he nodded once and the pressure vanished as quickly as it had come. Jace approached Anakin with a black pill in one hand and a jar of clear fluid in the other. “I’d hoped to use this on you in less tense circumstances but…it be like that sometimes. Then Anakin felt the full effect of the pheromones and the telepathy worm their way into control of his arousal. He suddenly wanted this more than he wanted anything, more than he wanted water while feeling as though he was dying of thirst on Tatooine, more than he’d wanted Obi-Wan after each of his half remembered teenage wet dreams, more than he’d wanted Padmé all through their single night of passion following their time together on Naboo. Anakin watched as Jerry swallowed the pill, a shiver ran through his body and a moment later a tentacle began to protrude from between his legs before solidifying, reshaping itself over and over shivering and twitching until Anakin was staring at a sizable cock hanging from between Jace’s legs.” Despite the severity of the situation Anakin’s confusion must’ve shown on his face “Oh you were expecting a cunt? So was the rest of this the galaxy but my friend and I hear for a symbiotic relationship, it gets some energy and nutrients from my body…and I get to impale a bratty little twink on my cock.” Jace was generous with the lube, coating Anakin in a way that made him feel much more vulnerable than he had. Jace’s cock slid inside him in one fluid, smoothly filling him. He whimpered at the feeling of being so full. As Jace began to move each languid thrust forcefully tapped his prostate causing him to cry out. Jace hijacked the pleasure centers of his brain alternating between insurmountable waves of pleasure and ghosts of barely-there pleasant sensations at a dizzying rate that made Anakin want to wail in frustration. Jace’s hands stroked over his body tweaking his nipples, as he whispered filthy things into his ear and licked up his tears. Anakin knew he’d never be satisfied with Padmé again as Jace bit, scratched, choked and cut into him while he was pounded, used, claimed, taught a lesson. This was more than even his fantasy of Obi-Wan had ever done to him and he knew that that would never satisfy him again either. Anakin felt a tight knot inside him form and tighten in on itself again as he approached a climax when suddenly Jace went still. “Oh, but I almost forgot to show you the best part.” Jace placed his hands on Anakin’s throbbing cock and there was the slightest flash of electricity is Jace used a minute amount of force lightning to excite the nerve endings at the tip of Anakin’s clock. Anakin wanted to scream in pleasure, that was nothing compared to when Jace was still for a moment and channel the lightning through his own cock directly onto Anakin’s prostate. He placed the blade against Anakin’s battered throat and dug the edge in. “Be a good boy. Come for Daddy,” he said, his voice saturated with the authority of an imperial command. The double knot inside Anakin rip itself to shreds as he experienced a continuous orgasm writhing in pleasure long after he’d shot several jets of cum onto his own chest, the pleasure would not abate he whimpered and tried to twist away. Only when his sanity seemed at the very point of snapping did Jace seem satisfied. Jace leaned in and therefore heads touched Anakin was suddenly immersed in a childhood memory, Watto had been furious at Anakin for accidentally injuring himself and getting blood all over the shop while going about his chores. Watto had raved that the only thing a slave owned was his blood. Jace was lapping up the final dregs of his blood. “ I’ve tasted your blood, and blood is love. That means you’ll always belong to me sweet boy. I’ll always be your daddy. I love you, Ani.” The chosen one was, at last, finally, broken.


End file.
